


Better Than Sex

by MadameAngel



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Slash, Slashy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameAngel/pseuds/MadameAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A New Year's Eve party takes an interesting twist when Captain Kirk gets the urge to bake a cake.</p><p>Originally published on fanfiction.net 2011</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Sex

Jim Kirk flung himself down on his newly made bed, then jumped straight up again. No sense in having to make the bed twice. He sat down in his desk chair and spun around a few times. It was New Year's Eve and, to put it bluntly, he was bored as hell. He had the evening off, and had already remade his bed, reorganized his desk, and rearranged his book/holodisc/PADD shelf – alphabetically. He'd even gone so far as to clean out under his bed, but there was nothing under there except a few stray socks and a disturbing lack of feminine under-things because he hadn't gotten laid in weeks! And to top it all off, he couldn't find Spock  _anywhere_.

Jim grumbled and hauled himself out of his chair. He knew he was probably just being dumb, but he simply couldn't figure out where Spock had got to. He ran a hand through his hair and wrinkled his nose in disgust.  _I'll have to remember to shower before the party tonight_ , he told himself.  _Now, if I were Spock, where would I be?_  He racked his brain. The  _Enterprise_  had recently made a stop at Dracos VI, but all Jim could remember about that planet was that it had been extremely hot and humid. Yes, that was right, and they'd stored the plant samples in one of the rarely used botany labs because the climate had to be so specific. Jim tweaked his head from side to side, cracking the joints in his neck. A voice in his head, which sounded oddly like McCoy, grumbled in protest, but Jim ignored it and set off in search of Spock.

Jim stepped quietly inside the doors of Botany Lab 5, which was in the aft section of deck 8. Spock was standing at a table across the room, his back to the door. It looked as though he was repotting one of the plants from Dracos VI. Jim was sure Spock had heard him come in, but he didn't turn around. Jim approached the Science Officer quietly. The air in the room was stiflingly warm, and he started to sweat almost immediately. He wondered vaguely if Vulcan was as warm, but, thanks to Nero, he could never visit. Jim leaned up against the table, facing Spock but well out of his way.

The Vulcan had his sleeves pushed up past his elbows and was steadily working his long-fingered hands beneath the roots of a spiny Dracocian plant. The dark red soil covered his forearms, contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. His eyes were narrowed, every facet of his not-inconsiderable mind focused on the delicate task at hand. Something was off, though. Yeah, Spock's sleeves were pushed up and he was covered in dirt, but something  _else_  was off.

"Spock, you're sweating!" Jim realized after a moment. He lowered his eyebrows. "I thought Vulcans didn't sweat…" Spock shot him a sideways glance, raising one eyebrow.

"I  _am_  half Human, Jim," he said in a slightly patronizing tone.

"Is this hotter than Vulcan?" Jim asked, wiping a trickle of sweat out of his eye.

"No," said Spock, who was now almost up to his elbows in dirt. "Vulcan is, if my assumptions are correct, approximately 5 Celsius degrees warmer than Dracos, but the humidity makes Dracos seem much warmer, despite the fact that my body is accustomed to higher temperatures than most humanoids."

"Huh," Jim replied, feeling slightly inadequate. "Do you need help with that?"

"Yes, please," Spock said. "Bring that pot closer." He nodded towards a larger pot about an arms length away. Jim pulled it over and held it steady as Spock eased the Dracocian plant into its depths, sprinkling red dirt everywhere. Spock then poured the remaining dirt from the first pot into the second and Jim helped him pat it down. The spines on the plant scraped the back of Jim's hand and he winced.

"Are you alright, Jim?" Spock asked immediately.

"Think so," Jim muttered, inspecting the cut. It was bleeding a bit much for such a simple injury. Hmm… Spock reached out and took hold of Jim's wrist, pulling Jim's wounded hand closer to his face. "Hey!" Jim started to protest.

"You may want to see Dr. McCoy about this cut," Spock said, interrupting him. He prodded the back of Jim's hand with two long fingers, pinching the cut open and closed. Jim couldn't help but notice how warm Spock's fingers were. Even in the oppressive heat of the botany lab, it was extremely comfortable. A small sound escaped Jim's throat, but even he couldn't tell if it was from pain or … not. He dragged himself out of his reverie long enough to ask,

"Why do I need to see Dr. McCoy?"

"Because Dracocian plants have developed a very unique response to deforestation: Their sap is poisonous. They are perfectly harmless as full plants, but once cut, and in their thorns, the poison is quite…potent." Spock let go of Jim's hand.

"Yay," Jim muttered sarcastically.

When they entered Sickbay, McCoy hurried over eagerly, holding his hypospray aloft. He looked thouroughly disappointed when Spock waved it away.

"You will not be needing that, doctor," he said coolly. "The Captain merely has a scrape on his hand."

Jim spluttered. " 'The Captain merely has a - !' Bones, the tree tried to eat me!" Spock raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Jim," Bones said, "I highly doubt—"

"The plant was Dracocian, doctor," Spock interrupted.

"Of course it was," McCoy said, his voice a low rumble as he dragged Jim towards one of the beds. "Damn poisoned trees." He forced Jim to sit on the bed and began hooking up some kind of evil vacuum to his injured hand.

"Bones, what're you-?" Jim said. When the doctor ignored him, he rounded on Spock. "I thought you said this wasn't that serious!"

"I said no such thing," Spock replied coolly. "I merely said that the hypospray would not be useful in this instance."

Jim groaned. "Happy New Year to me," he mumbled. Spock's eyes narrowed and he quirked one eyebrow, but said nothing. Just then, McCoy turned on the evil vacuum. An odd tugging sensation centered itself on the cut on Jim's hand. "OW! Jesus, Bones, what  _are_  you doing?"

"I'm  _trying_  to get the poison out of your system before it reaches your heart," McCoy said. Kirk frowned.

"Isn't there an easier way?"

"Humans used to suck the poison from wounds using their mouths. A foolish, albeit sometimes effective method," Spock said. "I trust you prefer it this way?"

Jim didn't answer right away. He was momentarily distracted by the sudden idea of Spock sucking the poison from his hand. The thought was strangely –

"Captain?" Spock said suddenly, sounding surprised. " _Jim_?" Jim blinked.

"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible. But Spock wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was staring at the monitor on the wall above Jim's bed.

"Doctor, why has Jim's heart rate suddenly accelerated?"

McCoy tried to keep from laughing as he said, "Gee, I don't know, Spock, could it possibly have been the thought of—"

"Bones!" Kirk growled.

"Wha-at?" McCoy said innocently, his eyebrows raised. Kirk glared at him. Spock took two steps back and stood completely still, his arms held awkwardly away from his body to keep the dirt from getting on his uniform. McCoy stood looking from Kirk to Spock and back again, then said, "Mr. Spock would you leave us please?"

"Of course, doctor," Spock said, turning smartly. "I will expect word on the Captain's condition." And he was gone. McCoy turned to Kirk with an odd look on his face. His eyes were doing some sort of skeptical wide-open-and-narrow-at-the-same-time sort of thing, and a twisted smile was playing around his mouth.

"No way," he said.

"No way, what?" Kirk said defensively.

"You've-" McCoy paused to clear his throat before dropping his voice to a whisper "you've got a crush on Spock."

"I do not!" Jim retorted, but the monitor over his bed started beeping again. McCoy raised his eyebrows. Kirk lowered his eyes. "Okay, so maybe I just didn't  _know_  I had a crush on Spock."

"This is absolutely hilarious," McCoy chortled.

"Oh shut up," Kirk said. He gave the hand that was attached to the evil vacuum a tug. "Can I get out of this now?" McCoy nodded, still laughing, and came over to turn off the machine. "What did it  _do_  to me?" Jim whined, after trying and failing to move his fingers.

" _Sucked_  the poison out of your bloodstream," McCoy said mockingly.

"Shut up," Kirk said again, giving him a shove. His blood-less hand flopped pathetically against McCoy's shoulder.

"You loooove him," McCoy teased, dragging Jim over to his desk. "You want to kiiiiss him—"

"Seriously? Are you twelve?"

"Just young at heart, Jimmy. Young at heart."

"You'd better be, because you don't look it," Jim shot back. McCoy shot him a sideways glare, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. The doctor was applying some sort of cream to Jim's cut, and the skin on the back of his hand tingled as the wound sealed back up.

"Now go take a shower. You reek of plants and filth," McCoy ordered.

"Of course,  _Captain_  McCoy," Jim said with a grin as he sauntered away.

Spock was standing just outside the door. Jim stopped shortly at the sight of him.

"Hey, Spock," he said slowly. "What's up?"

Spock looked for a moment as though he was seriously considering glancing at the ceiling. Thankfully, he didn't, and simply said, "Is your injury healed, Captain?"

Jim held up his hand to display the thin pink line along his skin. "All better," he said brightly.  _Oh fuck_ , he thought.  _What if he heard…?_

Some of his worry must have shown on his face, because Spock leaned forward slightly and asked, "Jim? Is everything alright?"

"Everything is…fine," Jim said after a minute. "What time is it?

"Just after 2000 hours," Spock replied, leaning back again.

"Well, I guess we'd better shower before the party," Jim said.

Spock blinked, but didn't speak.

"You  _know_  what I meant," Jim said, fighting the blush that threatened to creep up his face.

Spock just arched an eyebrow. Jim glared at him.

"I mean I shower in  _my_  shower and you shower in  _your_  shower and then we're, you know… clean."

Spock blinked twice more before answering. "I understood your meaning perfectly, Jim," he said, his tone light, almost joking.

"And you let me—?" Jim sputtered.

Spock raised both eyebrows innocently.

"Fine," Jim said. "Play dumb. See if I care." He turned and walked away, but he could feel the Vulcan's eyes boring into his back and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to turn around.

Spock watched Jim go through narrowed eyes. He knew what the Humans thought of him. They thought that he had no emotions, that he felt no pain, no pleasure.

They were wrong.

As he watched Jim walk away, Spock clenched and un-clenched the fingers on his right hand, the hand that had touched Jim's hand. His fingertips were still tingling. Spock blinked a few times against the burning behind his eyes as he watched Jim enter the turbolift. Once that particular lift had departed, Spock walked over and took his own lift up to deck 5.

* * *

When Jim reached Recreation Deck 8 an hour later, the New Year's Eve party was in full swing. Scotty was running a full-scale bar at one end of the room, and Uhura had set up a dance floor at the other. He paused just inside the door to admire the view. Some young crewmember – Kirk couldn't remember who – had asked that the party be a casual dress, no uniforms sort of affair. Jim was feeling extremely glad he'd agreed, because every single one of the female officers was wearing either a very short skirt – shorter than regulation – or extremely tight pants.

But Jim wasn't interested in any female officers this evening. His eyes settled on Spock, who was standing near a wall, studying his fingernails intently. He was not wearing his uniform, and Jim wasted no time in appreciating this fact. He was wearing a pair of black, nondescript pants that were just  _slightly_  tighter than his uniform, and Jim couldn't help but smirk. Spock's shirt was a dark green button down, and he'd left the first two buttons undone, so that just a ghosting of chest hair showed through the gap. Jim bit his lip. For all that Spock claimed he didn't know how to dress, he could be  _damn_  sexy when he put his mind to it. Jim allowed himself a few moments of shameless ogling before approaching the stoic Vulcan.

"Good evening, Spock," he said. Spock didn't reply. "Spock?" he said again, a bit more forcefully. Still, Spock didn't reply. Before he could stop himself, Kirk reached out with one finger and poked Spock squarely in the side. The Vulcan gave a very undignified squeak. Jim's eyes widened in shock.

"What was  _that_!" he asked, grinning.

"That was a reflex," Spock said coldly.

" _That_  was an 'I'm ticklish' noise," Jim corrected, stabbing at Spock with his finger again. Spock stepped nimbly out of reach.

"I would appreciate it if you ceased such childish behavior, Captain," Spock said.

"Oh, so we're playing the 'Captain' card, are we?" Jim teased. "Well in that case, as  _Captain_  I can do whatever I want." He took a step closer to Spock, trying to ignore the vein he could see pulsing in Spock's neck.

Spock rolled his head slightly to one side, considering the Human before him. His black eyes bored into Jim's blue ones, trying to decipher his motives. Jim's eyes laughed silently back at him. After a moment, Spock said, "I am sure you know, Jim, that my strength is far superior to yours and that I could overpower you easily."

Jim had a sudden flashback of Spock pinning him to a console, holding him against it with his body as he tried to choke the life out of him. But this time, Jim didn't remember the pain. Instead, he remembered the exact way Spock's hips had fit against his own. Little did Jim know, but Spock had just remembered the very same thing. The Vulcan's eyes narrowed the tiniest bit, their inky blackness becoming a tad less cold. Jim smirked and leaned forward slightly.

"We'll just see about that," he whispered. Before Spock could reply, Jim turned around and walked off, privately wondering just how far Spock would go to prove his "I'm stronger than you" point.

Several awkward slow-dances and a few alcoholic beverages later, Kirk was feeling slightly bored and looking for something else to do. He was also having an odd craving for a certain cake that quite a few girls had made for him as a teenager. He fought his way through the crowd to a slightly less crowded corner. There he found Spock, who was watching the dancing intently.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"I am attempting to decipher the movements of this particular style of dance," Spock said.

"There aren't any," Jim said. "It's just jumping around, basically."

"Like this?" Spock raised both hands above his head and bounced stiffly on the balls of his feet. Jim snorted with laughter.

"Not quite, but that's the general idea," he said. Spock stopped "dancing" immediately. He even looked slightly embarrassed. "Don't worry about it, Spock," Jim said.

Spock raised one skeptical eyebrow. It was just then that Jim remembered  _why_  so many girls had made him this particular kind of cake. A slow smile spread across his face.

"Hey, Spock?" he said slowly. Spock lowered his eyebrow cautiously. "Can you help me with something?"

"Of course," Spock said, just as slowly, in a tone that implied, "If it's not too stupid/dangerous/etcetera."

"We're going to make a cake," Jim said.

"A cake," Spock repeated.

"Yeah. Because… because this party is seriously lacking in cake." Jim turned to go. Spock made no effort to follow him. Jim stopped at the door and turned around again. "Spock, you can't be enjoying this party  _that_  much." Spock shook his head minutely. "Then come on!" Jim left the room without waiting to see if the Vulcan would follow him.

Spock caught up to Jim as he was waiting for a turbolift to deck 10. "What cake are you going to make, Jim?" he asked.

Jim ignored this. "Who said it was just going to be me making the cake?" he asked indignantly as the lift doors opened. They went in.

"Of course, I will assist you, if you so desire," Spock said as the lift descended.

Jim leaned nonchalantly against the wall. "Oh, I  _desire_  all right," he said with a smirk. Spock looked sideways at him. Jim blinked innocently, trying to ignore the way that the tips of Spock's ears were turning green and making Jim all hot and bothered inside. He was so busy wondering how it would feel to run his tongue along the outer edge of Spock's ear that he didn't notice that the lift had stopped.

"Are you coming, Jim?" Spock's voice broke into his fantasy and Jim giggled at the Vulcan's choice of words. Spock looked slightly worried.

"Yeah, I'm coming, Spock, don't worry," Jim snorted, exiting the lift.

The  _Enterprise_  kitchen was rarely used. Kirk had never even seen the purpose of having one: they couldn't store ingredients aboard the ship, so although the food was hand-prepared, it was still technically replicated. It  _did_  have a full range of cooking appliances, though, and that was exactly what Jim was looking for.

"How fitting," he said as they walked in, "that the first people to use the  _Enterprise_ kitchen are her captain and first officer."

Spock ran an appreciative hand over a gleaming steel countertop. "I would have thought maintenance would have used it by now, or Mr. Scott. He is rather fond of … unique foods."

"Well, I'm pretty sure there's some rule about how the kitchen is only to be used for 'very special occasions,' or something." Jim said, emphasizing his speech with air quotation marks. He strode over to the foods card catalogue and opened a drawer, muttering under his breath as he rifled through it. "Ah!" he exclaimed after a moment of searching. "Got it."

"Got what?" Spock asked.

"Chocolate cake mix," Jim said, waving the card around. "I can't believe they have a card for that." Jim slid the card into the slot above the last in a long row of replicators. A tiny screen above the door flicked to life. "Hey, cool," Jim said. He studied it closely. It said, "How many packages?" and had options from one to five. Jim shrugged and pressed the 'one' button. The replicator dinged. Jim opened the door and pulled out a bag made of thin plastic. The instructions for making the cake were printed on the side. Jim dumped the mix into a mixing bowl and smoothed the bag out on the countertop.

"We'll need two eggs," Jim said. The words were hardly out of his mouth before Spock was at the replicator, selecting the 'two eggs' option. He cracked them deftly into the bowl, the shells more perfectly split than they would have been even by a robot.

"What is the purpose of making this cake by hand when you could simply replicate a whole chocolate cake?" Spock asked.

"I find mixing by hand extremely therapeutic. When I was at the Academy, I'd break into the kitchens and… Oops," Jim said. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, huh?"

"The Academy can no longer punish you for anything you may have done in your time there," Spock said, and Jim thought he heard the note of a smile in Spock's voice.

Kirk replicated some water and vegetable oil and dumped them in the bowl. Spock was already standing at his elbow with a sturdy plastic mixing spoon. Kirk gave him half a glance before taking the spoon, accidentally-on-purpose brushing his fingers against Spock's. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly. He picked up the bowl and cradled it in his left arm, stirring furiously with his right. The eggs made a gross slopping noise as they mixed into the batter. He nodded towards the shelves of gleaming steel utensils.

"Spock, could you hand me one of those nine by thirteen pans?" Jim inspected the batter closely as Spock selected a pan from the nearby shelves, a brand-new, self-greasing, non-stick sort of affair. Jim poured the smooth chocolate batter into the pan, looking surreptitiously up through his eyelashes at Spock. The Vulcan was watching him closely. Jim smoothed the batter out with his spoon, then licked the spoon clean as slowly and obscenely as he could manage. "Mmmm," he said appreciatively. Spock's eyes widened a fraction and he looked away. Jim chuckled to himself as he crossed to the ovens and put his cake in.

"Scanning," the oven said in a cool female voice. A neon green light flashed once over the cake – Kirk could see it through the translucent window – and the oven dinged a second later. The cake was done. Kirk pulled it out. It was a beautiful, even, chocolate brown, and fluffy. He thunked it proudly on the counter before Spock.

"Well done," Spock said evenly. "What is the next step?"

Over the next several minutes, Spock added sweetened milk, whipped cream, toffee bits, and caramel sauce to the cake. Jim coached him, his smirk growing by the minute. When Spock was done, he turned to Jim and asked, "Now that we are finished, will you answer my earlier question?"

Jim feigned innocence. "What question was that again?"

"What kind of cake have we just made?"

"B.T.S. cake," Jim said.

Spock was silent for a moment, obviously trying to work out what "BTS" stood for. "And what, exactly, does BTS stand for?" he asked finally.

Jim wiggled his eyebrows and said, "Better Than Sex." He grinned broadly.

"Better than—" Spock began, and then his eyebrows contracted sharply. "Captain," he said in a slightly affronted voice.

"What?" Jim leaned forward slightly. His blue eyes were wide and innocent-looking, but Spock noticed a tightness around them that made his blood boil. Jim fluttered his eyelashes at him a bit, and Spock raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching ever-so-slightly upward. "Now," Jim said after nearly a minute of silence, "what say we take this cake up to the party?"

"I think," said Spock, acutely aware of the taste of Jim's breath on the air between them, "that would be wise." But Jim didn't move. He stood there, breathing evenly, his lip curling slightly. Spock watched him unblinkingly.

"Well let's go then," Jim whispered. He leaned away again, but not before he'd leaned the tiniest bit forward for half a second. Spock stood up slowly, his spine curving gently. He blinked a few times to clear his mind. He'd been leaning forward too, but had somehow not realized it until now. His muscles were tight, coiled springs, and he took a few deep breaths to try and relax them, but nothing seemed to help, so he stood completely still as Jim picked up the cake and headed for the door. "Come on, Spock," he called as he walked off. "I'm tired of telling you to 'come on,' so do it without my telling, 'kay?"

Spock took a deep breath and followed him with slow, measured steps. By the time he reached the turbolift, Jim was already inside. He'd pulled down a convenient little shelf and set the cake on it. Now he was standing with his arms folded, leaning casually against the wall, watching Spock as the Vulcan made his slow approach. Spock went in and the door closed behind him. He reached for the nearest handle switch and rotated it. The lift, sensing the weight of another person aboard, didn't move. Spock raised his eyebrow as if to say, "Well?" but did not trust his voice enough to speak. Jim smirked at him.

With interminable slowness, the Captain leaned towards the First Officer, laughter in his eyes. "You haven't asked the most important question," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"What question would that be?" Spock asked, his voice equally quiet.

"Why this cake?"

Spock blinked at this.  _Better Than Sex_  cake… It didn't take a genius IQ to work out what  _that_  was supposed to mean, and thankfully Spock wasn't stupid. He debated debating the consequences of the action he was about to take, but talked himself out of it. It would be…illogical to deny that he had long desired the Captain in a more intimate way than simple friendship. He lowered his voice to his most dangerous whisper. "I assume,  _Jim_ , because you intend to have me taste the cake, and then proceed to figure out if it is aptly named."

"And are you going to?"

Spock didn't answer. Silently hoping that no one was watching the security cameras at that moment, he reached around Jim – the action putting him, not quite inside the Captain's clothes, but close – and swiped one long finger through the whipped cream topping on the cake. He drew the finger back before his eyes, inspecting it closely. The whipped topping was a pure, almost artificial white, accented by the caramel sauce swirled in it. His eyes never left Jim's as he put the finger in his mouth and licked the cream off of it.

"Guh," Jim said, almost inaudibly. Spock quirked an eyebrow at him.  _I was under the impression that this was_ my _idea,_  Jim thought.  _What happened to that?_  He struggled to keep himself in check. "Spock," he said quietly.

"Yes, Jim?" the Vulcan replied. Jim's mouth felt dry and he licked his lips. Spock's eyes followed his tongue with morbid fascination. And Jim couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He surged forward. Their lips met. He fisted his hands around the fabric of Spock's shirt, and one of the buttons popped off and clattered to the floor. Spock stood, unresponsive, for a few seconds. Then he wrapped his arms around Jim's body, his long fingers spread wide on the Human's back. Jim's smell filled his nose, warm and spicy and cool, all at the same time.

Jim's nervousness evaporated as he slid his tongue along the Vulcan's bottom lip. Spock made a low sound in the back of his throat and opened his mouth to the Human. Jim's tongue slipped in eagerly, exploring Spock's mouth with ravenous hunger. Spock kissed him back with equal fervor, his hands leaving burning handprints wherever they touched him.

After a moment, Spock pulled back. Jim, undeterred, bent his head towards Spock's throat, licking and sucking at the hollow of the Vulcan's collarbone. His impatient hands tore Spock's shirt open, sending buttons everywhere. He pushed it off Spock's shoulders. The cuffs were stuck on the Vulcan's wrists, but Jim didn't seem to care. He was too busy nibbling on Spock's collarbone, relishing in the faint green bite marks that appeared there. The Vulcan ran the fingers of his free hand through Jim's hair and he moaned, his back arching.

Spock had finally freed his other hand. He celebrated having the use of both arms by pulling Jim's shirt over his head and running both his hands across Jim's chest. Jim gave a throaty laugh, and even Spock almost smiled.

"What?" Spock asked.

"You," Jim said. "You are so Goddamn delicious."

Spock answered this with another kiss, latching his hands onto Jim's hips and puling their bodies together. It was then that Jim awoke to the realization that Spock  _wanted_  him just as much as he  _wanted_  Spock. He smiled, and Spock ran his hot tongue along Jim's teeth. Jim bucked his hips, and the Vulcan groaned.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Spock asked.

"Hell yes I'm sure," Jim growled, his breath hot on Spock's neck. He stood on tiptoe and curled his tongue around Spock's earlobe. Spock reacted so strongly that he shoved Jim into the cake, sending it to the ground where it splattered all over them and the walls. Jim hardly noticed, except to lick the whipped cream off of Spock wherever it had splattered onto him. He slowly dragged the Vulcan to the floor, where they lay, legs entwined. Spock rolled over, leaning over Jim and eyeing him speculatively. Then he kissed the Human's chest, taking one nipple in his mouth and rolling it between his teeth.

"Ah!" Jim said breathlessly as Spock kissed his chest, then the plane of his stomach, advancing steadily lower. One hand was braced on Jim's thigh; the other was holding the weight of Spock's body off of Jim's. Spock reached the waistband of Jim's jeans and looked up. Jim was watching him through half-closed eyes, a sleepy grin playing around his mouth. "Come up here," he murmured. Spock crawled back up his body. "My turn," he said wickedly.

Spock lay flat on his back as Jim explored him, kissing every inch of the Vulcan he could reach. Spock's spine arched and his hips bucked, pressing into Jim's chest. The Human smirked, undoing the zip on Spock's pants with his teeth. Spock groaned again, a long, unbroken sound, as Jim eased the pants down over Spock's narrow hips. Then he knelt up, unzipping his own pants. Spock watched him hungrily. He bent back down, bracing his hands on either side of Spock's shoulders, and began to rock his hips roughly back and forth, grinding his hips into Spock's. Spock arched his back in impossible ways, trying to fit their hips more closely together. But the lack of friction made them both work harder for it, and soon they were both panting with the effort.

There were more effective methods, to be sure, but this one  _was_  extremely satisfying, and when it was done Jim collapsed on top of Spock, spent. Spock ran his fingers over Jim's back, feeling the ridge of his spine. After a few moments, he spoke.

"I do believe it will be quite impossible for us to return to the party in this state," he said. Jim, since he had his ear against Spock's chest, shivered as Spock's low voice vibrated beneath him.

"Yeah," he said eventually. "What do we do?"

"I propose we take a shower and then return to the party. We do still have time to make it before midnight," Spock said.

Jim sighed. "Fine." He stood up on unsteady legs and zipped up his jeans. He looked around for his shirt, but the cake had landed on top of it. Spock stood up as well, and pulled his pants back up, but didn't bother zipping them. Jim stared at the fine line of black curling hair making its way up to Spock's navel. Still mesmerized, he reached out and took hold of the handle-switch. Spock was already holding on to his. "Deck 5," he said, and the turbolift zoomed upwards.

* * *

Kirk and Spock arrived back on Rec. Deck 8 forty-five minutes later – an interval during which they may or may not have had sex in Kirk's shower. No one seemed to notice, or even care, that they had been gone. They spent the rest of the evening talking quietly in a corner. Or rather, Spock was talking, and Jim was doing his best to distract the Vulcan without drawing attention.

At midnight, someone let off a cannon of confetti and everyone cheered. Kirk felt Spock's breath hot on his neck as the Vulcan stood behind him, wrapped his arms around Jim's waist, and whispered,

"Happy New Year, Jim."


End file.
